Unspeakable Dreams
by kyella14
Summary: After the Final Battle, Fred lies in St. Mungo's in a coma. The Healers are helpless, and nobody is sure if he will ever wake up. Hermione sees the devastation that rips through the Weasley family, and unable to bear it, she decides to take things into her own hands. As an Unspeakable, she researches ways to bring him back, and finds one - by diving into his dreams.
1. Dominus Somniorum

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

The Department of Mysteries held many secrets. Any knowledge the wizarding community had of it were mere rumours – whispers of what was hidden in the London underground. There was the famed Hall of Prophecies, the only room known to exist due to Harry Potter's destruction of it in 1995. Later, people said that he had also found the Love Room there, where Unspeakables carried out their research into one of the strangest forces on earth.

There were other rooms: The Corridor of Time, the Death Room, where a fabled relic of powerful Ancient Magic stood. None of those, however, held Hermione Jean Granger's interest.

After the defeat of Voldemort and the end of one of the most gruesome wars in the history of wizardkind, the war heroes Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley had become Aurors. They had elected to reject Professor McGonagall's offer of an optional eighth year for all seventh year students affected by the war. Hermione, on the other hand, had returned to Hogwarts in order to complete her education. The reason for it, however, was not what her friends and family expected, or even knew of.

For the Weasley family, they were reeling still from mourning Fred. They still went to St. Mungo's every day to see him, praying for him to wake up. George, in particular, stayed with his twin so much that Percy had to take over business at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes temporarily.

In the summer before the re-opening of Hogwarts, after she had tracked down her parents and restored their memories, Hermione had visited often, too. The Weasleys were her second family, and it hurt to see them so lost and adrift.

While Fred lay in a coma, his twin had not smiled once. No more pranks were pulled, no more jokes were played – and the absence of their laughter drove a larger wedge in all their hearts.

Hermione had taken to speaking to him in his coma. George was there almost the whole time, and when she started to talk, so would he. And sometimes, it brought back a glimmer of the lost mischief in George's eyes, and breathed a little life into him. Sometimes, both of them even swore Fred responded: a twitch of his eye, a jerk of his finger, a hitch in his breath. The Healers at St. Mungo's informed them gently that this was likely because of an involuntary response than any conscious effort on Fred's part. Hermione had been disappointed. George had been convinced – and still was convinced – that it meant there was still some hope left.

So when the letter had come for her, asking her if she would be returning to Hogwarts for her eighth year, Hermione thought of the twins. Breathing and alive, but not quite. She thought of all her books and all her knowledge. And she knew she would spend her life trying to bring Fred back, for the sake of her second family, no matter the cost. So she had said yes.

But her decision was not accepted by all. Ron, for one, had disagreed. This disagreement had led to an explosion of screaming and yelling from the both of them.

"I don't understand why you're going back! You can do anything you want now; you don't _need_ to go back!" Ron had shouted.

"It's my decision. I want to do this," she had told him quietly.

"But why? Hermione, I won't be able to see you for _months_ if you do this," he had said, a pleading note in his voice.

"Because I can't stand it, Ron! I can't stand just _watching_ George – I go to St. Mungo's, and he is there, and he is just wasting away!" she had screamed back, tears streaking down her face. "And if I can do something to help, if I can finally put all that _bloody_ knowledge and stupid facts from books together, then I'll bloody do it."

"You don't think it kills me, too?" demanded Ron. "He's my _brother_! Don't you think it kills me to see that look on his face, that _dead_ look? I look at him, and I see the boy I grew up with, and now he's just… he's just…" He had trailed off helplessly, burying his face in his hands as dry sobs wracked his body.

"I know. I know. But don't you see? If I can help, if there's even the slightest possibility I can…" whispered Hermione. "Ron, I'm sorry, but this is just something I have to do."

"I just don't think I can do this without you, Hermione," he had choked out. "I can't, I really can't. I _need_ you."

"Yes, you can," said Hermione, quietly but firmly. She had wrapped her arms around him, offering what little comfort she could. But there was a rift between them, whether it was always there, or had been a result of all the horrors of war or what she had just told him, Hermione wasn't sure. And she had known then that no matter how hard she tried, how loudly she screamed, that that rift would stay, and Ron would never be able to hear her.

Upon returning to Hogwarts, she had thrown herself into her studies. The months apart had taken a toll on her relationship with Ron. It was something a part of her had known since that fight, but it had taken the separation and the distance for Ron to realise it. That even though he had said that he needed her, that he was helpless without her, he wasn't really. And Hermione, too, had been fine without him – perhaps not completely, but they just hadn't missed each other or thought about each other as much as they should have.

So after she had graduated from Hogwarts with Outstandings and a record score of over two hundred percent in all of her subjects, Ron and her had broken up with each other. They had ended it on good terms, and had stayed friends.

Then Hermione Granger did the unexpected and became an Unspeakable. The only people who had known that she would do this had been Ron and Harry, and the rest of the wizarding world had been shocked. It had made front page news, because the community had expected her to join her two best friends and become Aurors, or at the very least, involve herself in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Yet, Hermione had taken an oath of neutrality and secrecy, and had joined the Unspeakables into their research of the most powerful and obscure branches of magic. She was never to participate in any more wars, never to sell the secrets of magic to any side, be it for good or for evil.

Now, she spent her days in the Department of Mysteries, searching for a way to bring Fred back.

She kept her research in the shadows from her family and friends, as was required by her oath. But also because she didn't want them to know what she was doing. They would only feel guilty, thinking that she had thrown her life away or some rubbish like that. The only person who had an inkling had been Ron, and he too, had been sworn to secrecy.

It took three years for Hermione's research to bear any fruit. By then, George had returned to his joke shop, though still as sombre and hollow. Ron had gotten engaged to Romilda Vane, and Harry and Ginny were expecting their first child. Everyone was moving on, putting back together pieces of themselves after the war. But she remained within the depths of the Ministry. Sometimes, she wondered if it was an effect of the Corridors of Time, that her world alone seemed to have stopped on its axis.

The Ministry Library – access to it was limited to only the Minister of Magic and the Unspeakables – was a large room, such that Hermione couldn't even travel its length in a day if she wanted to. The endless rows of bookshelves, tall as the ceiling, were filled with dusty books, some written in a forgotten language, or in Ancient Runes. It was in one of those books where Hermione found what she was looking for.

"Dominus Somniorum," whispered Hermione, her eyes scanning the faded ink of the words beneath the title.

 _Dominus Somniorum (The Lord of Dreams) was a spell used by the Ancient Magicians of Egypt to explore dreams. In Ancient Egyptian culture, people who were able to use this spell were called Long-Seers, as they were able to literally travel physical distances in their dreams. Often, they were used as spies. There is also rumour that true Long-Seers were also able to travel between worlds._

She skipped the historical facts and found the section on how to cast the spell.

 _The caster need only point their wand at their intended target (the individual whose dreams the caster is diving into), and speak the incantation. Unconsciousness will be immediate. The caster must be warned that the journey into the world of dreams may be unpleasant and uncomfortable. The caster must also be warned that should death befall either the caster or the casted in the world of dreams, death in the physical realm may occur. At minimum, the caster and the casted will be forced to endure an endless limbo in which time and matter cease to exist. Some may say this fate is worse than death._

Hermione swallowed as she read that final sentence.

She slammed the book shut and continued searching for anything related to the spell. By the end of the night, she had five thick volumes in hand, three of which only mentioned it briefly, and the other was identical to the one she had found originally. She took all the books back to her office anyway, not willing to risk anything, and studied through the night. When the sun rose in the morning, she knew everything the books had to say about the spell by heart.

She blinked blearily around and sat in silence for a minute, taking in the gravity of what she was doing. What she was _actually_ about to do.

"Well," murmured Hermione, drawing out her wand to Banish the books back to the Library. "Time to go to sleep." She swept away, her jaw set determinedly as she headed toward the exit and made her way to St. Mungo's.

* * *

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when she arrived in Fred's room. There was no one else in here – George was clearly still at the joke shop, and as a Weasley, St. Mungo's offered them a few 'benefits', which included a private room for any member of the family.

"Hey," she said softly, leaning over him to press a kiss onto his forehead. "Guess what? I'm going to try and wake you up today."

She gripped at his hand, hoping in vain for some kind of response from him. When none came, she only sighed and kept talking. "I'm going to write a letter for everyone. Tell them what I've done." She paused. "I'm scared, Fred," admitted Hermione. "Not of seeing you – I want to see you again. I miss you. Not even of what I'm about to do. Because we'll wake up; I know we will."

No, the only thing she was scared of was what would happen _when_ they woke up. She didn't know if she could ever be forgiven for this. And she was probably going to be sent to Azkaban when she did, for using her position as an Unspeakable like this.

She had other fears, too – what if Fred wasn't the same? What if it took them years and years and years to wake up?

Hermione's hand trembled slightly as she pulled out her parchment and quill, scrawling a hasty message. She knew George would be in just right about now to see his brother before he opened shop. She had to be… gone by then. She signed her name and placed the folded piece of paper on Fred's chest.

"I'll see you soon, Fred," she said quietly. Her clammy hand clutched at her wand and pointed it at the unconscious wizard shakily.

She could barely hear herself over the pound of her heartbeat, her erratic breaths. _I'm sorry_ , she thought. _So sorry._

She could hear footsteps approaching. Probably George. She opened her mouth. The door creaked open.

"Hermione?" came George's shocked voice. "Hermione, what are you doing?"

Her mouth was dry as she said the spell, barely louder than a whisper. " _Dominus Somniorum_." The instant the incantation left her mouth, she felt a jerking sensation in her gut. She felt as though she was being sucked out of her body and pulled toward Fred, while at the same time, she could feel the sensation of her body crumpling to the ground.

Distantly, she heard a panicked voice scream, "HERMIONE!"

And then she was gone.


	2. Memories

It was as though her mind was being pulled in twenty different directions at once. Her lips stretched into a scream as she spiralled through a tunnel of colour and distorted images, but the sound was torn away from her and lost as she fell. She tried to look at some of them, but the pull on her mind intensified and the colours seemed to become brighter until they seared painfully into her mind. Just as she thought she couldn't take it anymore, she came to a sudden, jerking stop, and the brightness that shone through her closed lids was shut off so that she was left in pitch black.

Hesitantly, her eyes fluttered open. Hermione had to stifle a gasp. She stood on nothing, her feet floating in black space. Before her, so close she could reach out her hand to touch it, was a ball of white mist drifting along slowly. It was made up of wisps of silver, reminding her of a memory – except it was a million memories all joined together. If Hermione listened closely, she thought she could hear the sound of laughter.

The mist shifted, and a tendril of silver extended toward her, like a beckoning hand. Cautiously, she touched it, and followed it deeper into the mist. Soft shades of colour found its way back as she floated along, blurred shadows hid behind the wall of white.

Further and further in she travelled, and as she did, she realised the mist seemed to be solidifying into a world of its own. Her feet no longer floated in air, but walked on hard ground. The blurred silhouette sharpened and became an outline of a castle. Vague details came into existence as well – mountains blooming in the distance, echoes of chirping birds and rustling leaves, distorted giggles and chatter – until Hermione found herself standing on the grounds of Hogwarts.

It wasn't just any Hogwarts. Looking around, Hermione realised this was Hogwarts from _before_ the war. Before it was almost razed to the ground by Voldemort and his Death Eaters during the Final Battle. It was something in the sound of laughter and happiness that drifted through the air, something in the deep blue sky above her and the atmosphere of it. Peaceful. Too peaceful.

After the war, a solemn air of darkness always seemed to cling to the castle, as though Hogwarts itself was still unable to forget the horror and bloodshed that had occurred on its grounds. The Hogwarts Hermione saw now had none of this.

 _So this is Fred's dream_ , she mused. It was beautiful – or rather, had the potential to be beautiful. The detail was still too vague. There was no wind, no smell, and the objects around her were blobs of colour, paint slapped on carelessly by a child. Strangely enough, however, further into the distance, Hermione could see the trees more clearly.

She wandered toward those trees, and noticed the detail of the dream sharpened as she drew closer. There was a slight breeze now, and she thought there was a vague scent in it, of fresh air and flowers. She could make out the distinct lines of the grooves in the trunk of the tree, the shape of every individual leaf. Looking down at herself, she also saw that her clothes had shifted to her Hogwarts robes, and there was an increasing weight on her back – her backpack, filled with books.

Slowly, Hermione began to realise the shape of the dream was a circle, and the most detailed lay in its centre, its core. At its edges, the dream was smoky and groundless, and this world only existed as the blurred shapes she had seen when she entered at first. And as one came closer and closer to the centre, the dream became more vivid. The point at which the dream was richest would lie in the heart of it all.

And the heart of it all, apparently, lay within the ancient walls of Hogwarts.

She knew it the moment she touched those walls. It was in the magical energy that saturated the air, thick and comforting. In the familiar temperature of the stone foundation, warm under her skin, as though it were alive. And the loving detail poured into the texture. Hermione ran her hand along the rough brick of the west side of the castle.

There was this one spot she had found years ago, as a student, where the brick had cracked and formed a little heart-shaped dent. She had never failed to press her finger into it, and its imprint was forever burned into her memory. The year she had returned to Hogwarts for her eighth year, she had realised it was gone, the west wing of the castle having been turned to rubble during the war and replaced, its brick smooth and new and made her heart ache.

Yet it was here, in this dream. Here, as though it had always been there. This was the Hogwarts she had loved and missed and ached for. This – right here – was her second home, as real as it had been in the real world, as beautiful and as majestic as she had remembered.

Perhaps more real.

She tore her finger away from the wall with a shuddering gasp. _Focus, Hermione_ , she told herself. Unshed tears bloomed at the corner of her eyes. _Focus._ _Find Fred._

Hermione shook her head violently, removing the sentimental fog from her mind. This was the time for her famed rationality and intellect, not for emotions.

"Miss Granger," said a kindly voice from behind her. Hermione froze – that voice… it couldn't be.

She turned. It _was_. The old wizard stood there, a serene smile on his face and gazing at her with those forever twinkling blue eyes. Every line on his face, every wrinkle, every strand of his beard, was _exactly_ as she had remembered it. "Professor Dumbledore," she breathed, stunned.

His smile widened fractionally. "Miss Granger, while I myself am partial to walks around the school grounds, might I ask why you are not in class?"

"Er," she looked around desperately for a source of inspiration. "Er… I…"

"Perhaps," said Dumbledore amusedly. "You require some assistance in refreshing your memory?"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Let us see… Miss Granger, it is currently the 2nd of September, and therefore, the first day of classes. It is 1995, and you are in your fifth year. I do believe it is time for your Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Umbridge?" He inclined his head toward the school. "I suggest you make it there as quickly as possible. Professor Umbridge is… strict."

Hermione stared at the old wizard, jaw hanging open. "How did you… Why did you…" The questions rested at the tip of her tongue, but Dumbledore only gave her a small wink and pressed a withered finger to his lips.

"Run along now, Miss Granger. And always remember, constant vigilance, as an old friend used to say. Constant vigilance. Have a good day." Absently, Hermione noted his choice of words. _Used to say._ Past tense.

"I – yes – of course," stuttered Hermione. "G-good day, sir."

He tapped the side of his nose, and with that, strolled merrily away while humming a tune.

It wasn't until Hermione was halfway to the Defence classroom that all of what Dumbledore had told her sank in fully. She groaned inwardly. Merlin, was she going to have to suffer through Umbridge for another bloody year?

* * *

"Sorry, Professor Umbridge," gasped Hermione as she came running into class. The witch looked as foul as she remembered – a sickeningly sweet smile slapped onto her face, strikingly at odds with the hardness in her beady little eyes. Her bright pink outfit that made Hermione want to stab her eyes out was neatly straightened and that furry little cardigan probably smelled freshly soaked in perfume.

"Miss Granger," said Umbridge, tilting her head as she gave a girlish giggle. Hermione fought against the urge to wince. "Late already, I see. Tut, tut. Not off to a good start, are we?"

"Sorry," repeated Hermione, glancing around for a seat. Her eyes fell on a familiar head of messy black hair, along with another head of brilliant red. Harry and Ron. Of course they were in the dream as well – she hadn't given it much thought, but now they sat there, looking at her with confused expressions on their faces.

"Take a seat, dear. Now, as I was saying," Umbridge returned her attention to the class, but not before fixing Hermione with a cold look. "Your O.W.L.s are of vital importance this year. Unfortunately, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented." She continued speaking, as Hermione slid into her seat next to Harry and Ron. The foul witch wasn't looking at her anymore, but Hermione felt unsettled – as though she was being watched.

Ron leaned over and hissed, "Where were you?" Hermione responded with a jerk of her head, and mouthed _later._ She would have to think up of an explanation, and quickly.

 _Constant vigilance_ , Dumbledore's voice whispered into her mind. Hermione started, and looked around for the wizened man, but he was nowhere to be found. The unease in her stomach grew. She couldn't help feeling there was something she was _missing_ , something she was not seeing. Around her, Umbridge's voice faded into a warbling drone of noise in the background.

The nagging thought chewed at her, would not let her rest. A distant memory surfaced, a vague piece of trivia from a forgotten book, buried beneath years of accumulated information. Something from the Divination book she had bought, read and thrown away after she had dropped the useless subject in her third year. But what was it?

Before she could grasp it, Umbridge cleared her throat, bringing Hermione back to the present. "I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, 'Basics for Beginners'."

The bushy-haired witch scowled, and pulled the book out of her bag. She hadn't read this volume since that fifth year at Hogwarts. And even though she knew it wasn't important to read all this – she had already finished her O.W.L.s, after all – some old habit in her made her open it and bury her head in the first chapter.

She had barely even read the first word before the world shifted.

Literally, the world shifted.

The castle started to shake and the ceilings cracked, dust raining down on the top of all the students' heads. Hermione looked around in panic, but nobody seemed to notice apart from her – and Umbridge. The toad-like professor was staring directly at her. Her eyes had darkened to solid black, her lips were pulled back in a snarl. Her visage, falsely cheery but calm before, was now twisted and cruel. Hermione felt fear spike through her veins, and the chill running down her spine felt like ice.

Umbridge's body flickered, becoming translucent for a moment before solidifying again. Still, nobody but Hermione had seen this. Everyone else was reading their texts with glassy eyes, as though this was not happening, just as they had always been.

The thought clicked in her mind. _Just as they had always been._ She looked up at Umbridge, who was now advancing toward her, looking for all the world like a demonic entity. There was no time to think about it.

Hermione prayed silently that she was right, and slammed her book shut, thrusting her hand into the air. The shaking slowed and stopped, along with Umbridge, who looked at the brunette witch with narrowed eyes before turning on her heel and returning to the teacher's desk. Hermione could feel her blood pounding in her ears, and the raging heart behind her ribcage. She let out an unsteady sigh of relief.

 _Just as they had been_. This was how the class had played out all those years ago. Hermione remembered not even opening her book, only putting her hand up in the air and waiting for Umbridge to call on her. She had asked about her course aims, and the whole thing had escalated until Harry lost his temper and said that Voldemort was back, landing him in detention.

Apparently, that was how it had to happen in the dream, as well. Umbridge, or the dream, wasn't allowing for much variation from the original sequence of events.

But, as Hermione locked eyes with Umbridge, that would have to wait. She filed away the information she had discovered. Now, she had to act her part out, and make sure Harry got into detention.


End file.
